Maybe cleaning that last ditchOr tilling up the ground,Let’s you know the season's endHas finally come around.You wash your trucks and line them upAll neatly in the shed.Then set the old alarm clock forAn extra hour in bed.There are always certain signsThat winter is at hand,Even ’fore the snowy whiteSettles on the land.Maybe hunting seasonHas come and gone again,With a brand new rack of antlersTo hang up in the den.When I was young, which doesn’t seemSo very long ago,Winter was upon usWhen Christmas lights did glow.Now it seems that’s not a signOn which we can rely,For Target puts up Santa ClausSometimes in July.In winter, smells of ChristmasSpread out across the landTo let us know the holidaysSoon will be at hand.All up and down the valleyAbout this time of year,Cooks head to their kitchensTo cook up Christmas cheer.Most of it is pretty good,And some is even great.Who can get through ChristmasWithout gaining lots of weight?Yet out of those same kitchensComes one Christmas treat thatMakes me think of things long deadOr Uncle Ole’s feet.Did the beet plant break down really bad?What’s that nightmare for my nose?Did the “pumper truck” just drive byWith a broken hose?They serve this stuff down at the church.The silver all turns black.Norwegians come from miles around,And next year they'll come back.Is it only heritageOr something in their genes,That makes them crave this winter fishInstead of rice and beans?I want to sit down with them.I try to do my part.But to say I really like itJust isn’t in my heart.So go on, pass the lutefisk --That masochistic treat.I’ll join you at the table,But it’s lefse that I’ll eat.